


Hidden In Plain Sight

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Episode: s01e15 Celestial Navigation, F/M, Missing Scene, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-09-02
Updated: 2000-09-02
Packaged: 2019-05-30 09:02:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15093524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Donna muses on her relationship with Josh while listening to him speak to college students.





	Hidden In Plain Sight

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

Hidden in Plain Sight (1/1)

I'm in love with my boss. On the list of things not to do in an office environment, I'm pretty sure it ranks right up there. But I was already in the middle of it before I realized, and by then it was too late to stop.

Which explains why I'm sitting in darkened auditorium, half hidden by a podium, being a voyeur to my boss' speech to a political science class at Georgetown. I've been with Josh to a number of these speeches. I've even scripted some of his more formal ones. But this is the first time I've snuck in and watched him from the audience, as opposed to listening backstage. And I'm awe struck. He's so relaxed. So funny. So handsome. And so not even remotely aware of how I feel about him.

I can't imagine that he would think that this is how I would spend my night. Lately, I've been embellishing my social life, just so that I don't have to tell him that I spend most of my nights sitting alone at my favorite bookstore or watching TV. Basically, just waiting for the next morning, so that I can see him again.

Like this morning. I was at my desk by 7 a.m. I caught up on the evening's gossip with the people gathered around the bullpen's coffee maker, while darting my eyes to Josh's door every 5 seconds. Mornings are not the best time for Josh and he inevitable will roll in before 8, but he's usually crabby and tired. Today, I'm sure he'll be even more so. He had an early meeting with senior staff and the President this morning, where I'm sure he had to explain his role in the "secret plan to fight inflation" fiasco that occurred yesterday.

I was sitting at my desk, checking my e-mail, and double checking both my and Josh's schedule for the day, when I heard his world weary sigh over my left shoulder.

"What do you have for me this morning, Donna?"

"Well, good morning to you too Josh," I said, as I spun in my chair.

He was wearing his usual Friday suit, which was brown. I like all his clothes, but for some reason this suit looks particularly good on him. Maybe it's because it brings out the green flecks in his eyes. It's more likely because he can't seem to find a tie to match it, and his horrid choices always amuse me to no end.

"Donna. It's morning. There isn't anything good about it. By now I'd think you'd pick up on that," he retorted as he snagged the messages I was holding out him and started to head to his office.

I followed behind with both his schedule and my cup of coffee. "I can see by your tie choice that you dressed in the dark again," I said, as I arranged myself on the chair in front of his desk.

"What? You don't like this tie either? What's wrong with it?"

"Josh, there is no way that that particular tie goes with a brown suit. There isn't any color in it that would be in the warm color family. How many times do I have to tell you about the different color families?"

With a smile, he retorts, "Obviously, until my dying day because that inane theory will never seep into my head. Anyway, the salesgirl said it would look fine."

Aha, I thought. Another tie bought on a whim because some pre-teen salesgirl recommended it. Josh is a very smart man, except when it comes to dressing. I can't tell you how many horrid ties he's bought over the year, all because some salesgirl said it was "him."

"Another member of your fan club strikes again, I presume? Josh, how many times do I have to tell you that they're just trying to make a sale? They'd tell you a purple tie with green polka dots would go with your brown suit."

"Well, you'll just have to keep reminding me of that as well as reminding me of this color theory of yours, as well as the numerous other things you're constantly reminding me of," he says as he finally settles at his desk and sips my coffee.

"Hey," I say, as I reach for the coffee in mock horror. Inside though, this morning ritual of his, drinking my coffee until he can find some of his own, makes my heart skip a beat. "Get your own." And I bring the cup to my lips and take another sip before placing it down on the desk, as if to tempt him again. I wonder if I imagine that spark in his eye as he watches me sip from the cup where his lips were not five seconds before.

"Would you like to continue discussing your need for Garanimals, or would you like to hear your schedule for the day?"

He's flipping through his phone messages, but looks up with a question in his eyes, "Garanimals?"

I fake mock irritation. "I forget what a sheltered life you led in Connecticut. You know, Garanimals. The clothes you could buy at Sears. They had animals on each piece. That way, you knew that the giraffe top went with the giraffe pants. And that the lion blouse went with the lion overalls. I think it might solve your dressing dilemma each day."

"Are you suggesting I sew animal patches on my clothes to help me match them each morning?" he asks while reaching for my coffee again.

"Well, it's either that or get yourself a butler," I retort.

"But if my clothes matched each morning, how would we kill these first 10 minutes of the day?" he smiles and he stares. He does that sometimes. This hooded stare like his eyebrows and forehead are all of a sudden overhanging the rest of his face and he has to peer out from under them.

I meet his eyes, arch my eyebrow and tilt my head before offering my retort. "I'm sure you have plenty of other flaws which I could latch onto."

"Ah, you know me far too well, Donnatella." He glances at me quickly and what looks like a blush comes over his face, before he ducks his head and starts rifling through the piles on his desk.

I will my face not to flush; not an easy task for a fair skinned blonde. My mind, which usually comes up with the perfect response to him, draws a blank. I think it's because his words are double-edged, and because I think he knows it. Instead of bumbling out some response, which would surely tip off my feelings, I cough, readjust my crossed legs and open his calendar. "So, do you want to know what you're doing today?"

I'm not sure that he's listening as I list the numerous meetings, conference calls and appointments he has for the day. When I come to the Georgetown presentation this evening, his head perks up.

"That's tonight?"

"What?" I ask, as I've already moved onto next week's schedule.

"The talk at Georgetown with Professor Kincaid? That's tonight?" He reaches for my coffee again and his face seems tired.

"Looks that way. Why?" I want to add, "Got something better to do tonight?", but I don't.

"I just….I was hoping for a night off. Ugh. After yesterday's fiasco and spending most of the night cleaning up the mess, I wanted to just relax tonight. Or at least I was hoping to," he adds with a smile while settling back in his chair, still sipping my coffee.

The fiasco he refers to is the "secret plan to fight inflation" mess he created in the press room. I know that although he makes light of the whole situation, it irked him to make such a big mistake. Especially since I know he just came from a meeting with the President.

I want to ask what happened at the meeting this morning, but I don't. " Should I call Professor Kincaid and cancel?"

His face lights up for a brief second, but then he seems resigned. "No. I'll go. I'm sure he couldn't get a replacement speaker in such a short period of time."

"Plus," I add, standing up and collecting my calendar and coffee, "you wouldn't want to disappoint the numerous college co-eds who coined you as the 'sexiest man in the White House'."

He laughs at the reference to a survey taken by the Georgetown student newspaper which proclaimed him the "Sexiest Man at the White House." I however, was not amused by it. I agree with it, sure. But I had coined him that long before their stupid survey. I just didn't have the guts to tell him and it makes me mad that thousands of college students did. So I put on my teasing face and begin to move out of the office.

He comes around his desk though and takes the coffee back out of my hand. "Since I've already drank half your coffee, I don't see the reason why I can't just keep it."

I sigh and seem upset, but the brief touch of his hand against mine as he takes the coffee, makes up for it. I can get coffee any old time. Hand to hand contact with this man is a little more rare.

So, now instead being on a date this Friday night, I sit in an auditorium populated mostly with women, all fawning over one man.

The sound of a cell phone ringing brings me out of my reverie. I glance around for the rude person who would dare interrupt Josh's presentation, when I realize it's Josh's phone. He excuses himself and moves off to the side of the stage to answer the call. While I'm studying the cut of his suit from behind, something I rarely have the opportunity to do, a small fission of fear runs through me. What if he needs tnto his seat again. He doesn't seem frazzled. In fact, he jumps right into his story again.

If Josh isn't upset about whatever it is, then I won't be either. As much as I enjoy my job, I know that I'm far more loyal to Josh than I am to the job. Therefore, if he's unconcerned, I will be too.

He continues his story. Adding small anecdotes about people in the White House. Making small jokes where necessary. And being completely self-deprecating about his role in the "secret plan to fight inflation" fiasco.

That was definitely another item I'll be adding to my "list of embarrassing Josh moments." I've been stockpiling them since I met him and it's quite a long list now. I've fine-tuned my ability to know exactly which item to bring up, just to rile him, embarrass him or flatter him.

Yesterday afternoon, I wasn't at my desk when CJ returned from her dentist appointment. I was helping Margaret craft a memo for Leo and by the time I returned to my desk, Josh was already in the press room. A sense of doom hung over CJ's office when I popped in to find out why she wasn't doing the briefing. After bringing her some water, so she could wash down some more pain killers, I watched with horror as Josh took on the White House press corps. It was obvious he was using all the sarcastic weapons in his arsenal to try and control them. However, sarcasm doesn't go over big with the press and soon he was embroiled in a viscous circle of his own making.

After the briefing was over, I ran to meet him in the hallway. He didn't look good. When I grasped his arm, I could feel the tension in his body. I had hoped to reassure him by saying that he had my support, but I think my looking him right in the eyes reassured him more. However, after my ill-timed suggestion of him actually coming up with a secret plan to fight inflation, he seemed tense again. Luckily, his snapping at me was deflected by CJ calling him out in the hallway. In the brief seconds before he got to his office, we shared another a glance.

After interpreting what CJ was saying, Josh sent me out of the office to track down Toby. Unfortunately, I ran into Toby on my way out. Although I wanted to hear how Josh was going to talk his way out of this mess, the phone was ringing and continued to ring all day. I didn't have another moment to talk to Josh until later that evening.

I stayed late because there were so many loose ends that needed to be tidied up, and because the press kept calling asking for some follow-up with Josh. Except for a few meetings, Josh kept to his office most of the day. By the end of the day, his door was halfway closed, something he almost never does. I think he was hoping that by keeping his head down, people would forget what had happened.

When I knocked softly on the door and pushed it open a little, Josh seemed to jump. His jacket was off, his sleeves were rolled up and he seemed to be immersed in paperwork, but I knew better. I had no doubt he'd been sitting there driving himself into a frenzy replaying the day again and again and again.

"Josh? Do you need anything?"

He sighed. "No, you can go if you want Donna. I'm assuming the phones have stopped ringing?"

"Yeah." I stepped into the office and studied my cuticles because I couldn't stand it when he looked at me with those hurt puppy dog eyes.

"Donna, I'm sorry. I know this afternoon was frantic for you and it was a disaster of my own making and I apologize."

This was unexpected. He always praised me, joked with me, laughed with me and talked with me, but he'd never apologized to me for a hard day's work. All I could utter was his name.

"Donna, I just wanted you to know that I appreciate the fact that I can make a complete ass of myself and then run and hide, and that you will be there to pick up the pieces. Today was no exception. Go home. Relax. Come in late tomorrow."

Again, I'm struck dumb. He's making eye contact through this whole speech and I feel tears prick in the back of my eyes. Before I make a complete fool of myself by wrapping my arms around him and professing my undying love, I utter his name again. Then I ask if he's sure he doesn't need anything else. I could stay, I offer. I don't want him to sit in his dark office all alone all night.

"No, Donna. Go. I've got to come up with some plausible excuse for the President and I'm pretty sure he won't go for Toby's excuse of me falling down and hitting my head," he offers with a wan smile.

I know he has a staff meeting first thing in the morning. I wonder what I can say that will bolster him until tomorrow morning. Something that will lighten his mood and give him strength. I come up with nothing.

"Josh, are you sure? I could…"

I'm cut off by him coming around the desk. "Donna, I'm fine. I'll call you later, okay?" He reaches out and lays his hand on my upper arm.

I nod, whisper "good night" and let out a huge sigh as I hear his door click shut behind me.

He did call me later that night. I was in the middle of watching "The Shop Around the Corner," a movie about co-workers who bicker all day long, but are carrying on a secret letter-writing romance, which reminds me very much of my and Josh's situation, except we're not carrying on a secret letter-writing romance. And I'm pretty sure the infatuation in the relationship is one-sided. All on my side.

The phone call was brief. He was just calling to say he was heading home. He thanked me again for handling the phones all day. He joked about getting a job at the local burger joint after he's fired from his job tomorrow morning. I joked about how if he worked the grill, I could "assist" him with the fries. After all working for a deposed deputy chief of staff wouldn't look to good on my resume, so I'd probably have to join him there.

The professor is standing up signaling a break. I see Josh heading off the stage, cell phone in hand, and I know the only way to avoid him seeing me, is to get ahead of him in the crowd.

I hustle out with the other students and move up a staircase to the right of the auditorium doors. A few seconds later, Josh comes out, cell phone in hand, already dialing. He sweeps past two young women, and one of them says, "you're great."

He says "thanks" and moves on, but not before taking a second glance. Jealousy rears it's ugly head and I'm thinking of ways to kill the two co-eds without leaving an incriminating trail, when I find myself getting angry at Josh for looking back at them a second time. I assume it has to do with the typical male response to a pretty woman, but I think in Josh's case, it has more to do with him wondering if they could have voted for him in that stupid poll. All I want to do right now is walk up to him, wrap my arms around him and kiss him until he can't breathe. I want to mark him as mine, so that no 18-year-old, tight sweater wearing, freshman can even think about touching him.

The phone call doesn't seem to go well, if the droop in his shoulders is any indication. I follow him with my eyes as he wanders to the washroom, gets a drink of water and heads outside for a quick breath of fresh air. On his way he's stopped by a few more students, male thankfully, who have questions. He answers them briefly, joking with them. The wrinkles that the phone call put on his forehead smooth out as he talks with the students. As he jokes with them, I get a glimpse of what Josh must have been like when he first came to DC. With a 10-year age difference between us, I sometimes have a hard time imaging Josh as anything other than a determined 38-year-old. But sometimes, when I catch him in moments of relaxation, I see the idealistic young man who came to DC with big political dreams. And I'm captivated.

Luckily, before any females can join this group of students, the intermission is over. I wait for him to pass into the auditorium, before I slip back in.

The rest of his presentation is a continuation of the re-cap of the past few days. His cell phone rings twice more and during the last call, he seems to exhale. Like whatever it was he was waiting for has been resolved.

He interrupts the professor by saying there's something about his story he couldn't share with them. I know immediately that it has something to do with Judge Mendoza. I'm sure he'll fill me in in the morning. Knowing this makes me feel special. Singled-out. That's what working in the White House does to you. And I know it's what working with Josh has done. It makes me feel proud. It makes me feel that the work I do is important. It makes me feel important.

It's a powerful combination: Josh and the White House. A combination I hope I never get used to. I know that the things Josh has taught me: pride in my country, in my President and in the government, are lessons I will take with me long after I leave the White House.

My thoughts are broken into by the several questions that are asked of Josh. Some serious. Some funny. One question pricks my ears though. Someone asks what size staff Josh has. He answers that he has one staff member. The student questions why he has so few people under him. Josh laughs and says, "Believe me, this staff person does more work than 12 people would. I couldn't ask for a more competent, reliable and trustworthy staff. Plus, she keeps me grounded, which is a hard thing to do in a place like DC."

The questions continue, but I'm too happy to listen. To know that Josh speaks so highly of me makes my heart beat a little faster. Maybe there's a chance for us? Maybe I should ask him out? Maybe I should have my head examined!

The question and answer period wraps up and I take the opportunity to stare once more at Josh. There are so many things about him that I know. And there are so many things about him that I don't. All I know for sure is that I want to know those things. If we're going to banter back and forth like an old married couple, I'd rather we were an old married couple. But one of the most important things about him that I don't know, is how he feels about me. Whether he'd think it was unprofessional and suicide to our friendship, if we took things further. However, I don't know how to find this important fact out and I doubt that I ever will.

After the applause dies down, the young women keep fawning over him, flattering him with their compliments. However, I'm no longer troubled by it. They may see him tonight, but I have him tomorrow and all the days of the Bartlett administration after that. And that makes me smile.

The End 

  


End file.
